


play with fire (when oil meets water)

by artmakira



Series: step on a puddle (beware of its depth) [1]
Category: Persona 5, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Angst, Beware : I go into this blind with no Beta, Chuuya in Tokyo, Chuuya-Typical Anger Management, Confusion, Corruption, Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions (Bungou Stray Dogs), Eventual Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira - Freeform, Explicit Language, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Torture, It gets very confusing, M/M, Messing with the timelines, POV Alternating, POV Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), POV Sakura Futaba, PT Leader!Akechi, Pre-Relationship, Protective Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Protectiveness, Read at your risk, Well - Freeform, about dazai, and almost pops his lid a few times, because i tell you it is confusing, but then chuuya decided to write himself, chuuya's potty mouth, i can't believe thats a tag, in which i pick up my rusty skills and try to stab people with it, it was supposed to be a happy fic, it's called writing, the fic in which Chuuya meets the phantom thieves, very very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 01:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15402471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artmakira/pseuds/artmakira
Summary: Futaba stumbles upon a fellow red head with gravity defying powers. Things escalate from there.- - -In which Chuuya meets the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, gets along with them (surprisingly), vaguely learns about shadows and the cognitive manifestation of one's deepest darkest secrets, and manages to drag in their leader -who also works as a detective.





	play with fire (when oil meets water)

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, yes, here we go. Let's all see how Chuuya stumbles into something he's definitely not supposed too and gradually lose what little sanity he has to a bunch of kids.

Futaba's pretty sure Kaneshiro's palace beat Kamoshida's by a solid 69/10 if she has enough energy to actually care about her surroundings in a way that doesn't benefit her team.

“Oracle, agility and defense boost if you would!”

“On it!”

It's not that having a persona and fighting evil by changing the hearts of unanimously voted targets isn't good -it’s great, actually- but, on some occasions, she'd have chosen her cozy, cold, overclocked computer filled bedroom over this any day, really.

“Fox! Rakshasa to your left!”

“On it, Queen!”

On other occasions like the one that is currently unfolding, she'd give anything to bring Akira into the whole mess that is the Phantom Thieves of Hearts void of any sort of professional leadership.

“Effin’ Rakshasa- Queen! Nekomata -right!”

Their current lineup consists of Skull, Queen, Fox and Panther; this left Mona and her as back up. The back up team that couldn't really be counted as a back up team, to be honest. Mona's not the problem, neither are any of her friends -it's just that, their leader, their lynchpin, the one who usually keeps the group running like a well-oiled machine, is missing. Missing and very much missed.

There's nothing abjectly wrong with Queen's stand in leadership, but, like how Futaba much prefers the comfort of her room, she would rather have Akechi lead them -especially in a place as complicated as Kaneshiro's.

The problem isn't the fact that Akechi is _unavailable_ , it's the fact that Akechi is _very much available_ , and willing, and yet _they can't_ bring him into this. Which brings her back to how Futaba would like to please have Akira with her because she knows he would be perfect for the role.

“Out! Out! We can't effin' do this without Crow!”

“Ah! Queen's down! Mona we ne _ed dia now!_ "

.

Chuuya's quite sure he knows why his life is unnecessarily complicated.

All of them involves Dazai.

Chuuya's also sure that Dazai cannot just shove him into a hallucinatory world where the sky is green and limbs sprout from lumbering ATM machines. A world where money is, apparently, raining from the sky in which a bank-castle thing floats amongst grey clouds that speak of an incoming thunderstorm.

(He's still suspicious enough that he expects Dazai to jump out of the many skyscrapers that line the warped district he's sure was Shibuya, before.)

Chuuya’s also very, very sure that there is a floating building currently heading towards his direction with a couple of kids dressed up in what is probably a huge amount of leather and metal. The kids, five of them, along with a midget (‘pot, kettle, black’ says a voice that sounds unsurprisingly like Dazai) in a cat costume, were running. They were running from a creature that Chuuya has only ever read about in books and knows that it doesn’t belong anywhere out of it.

(He’s still hoping that this is all an elaborate prank that Dazai is playing on him, even though he’s certain that the last time he’s seen Dazai is in the ADA’s dorm back in Yokohama, probably thinking up incredulous ideas with that brain of his-)

(Did the cat mascot just turn into a bus?)

(It did.)

.

“Mona! Bus, now!” Futaba hears Ann shout as they turn tail and start running from the Shadows in a desperate attempt to escape. Mona shouts something that’s indiscernible in the wind rushing though their ears as they go through Kaneshiro’s palace’s passages, ending up right where they started ten minutes ago. Ten.

Futaba feels like they’d spend more than just ten minutes in there.

They really need Akechi with them. Or Akira.

Either one’s physical and mental presence will be very much appreciated.

.

Chuuya stares skeptically at the (cat? bus?) vehicle that had landed a few feet away from completely crushing him. Not that that particular thing would be a problem, Chuuya just has to snap his fingers and the cat-bus would have been the one crushed instead but he’s got morals and he’s not into massacring minors (even if he’d been taught to massacre when he was a minor) and, besides, it’s not like a couple of kids with realistic looking weapons are going to be much trouble.

They’re probably just a bunch of cosplayers, anyway.

(He’s still trying to convince himself that Dazai’s back in Yokohama, and, had not, in fact, followed him all the way to Shibuya, Tokyo.)

The kids stumble out of the cat-bus in a suspiciously drunken way. Chuuya takes in their appearance and comes to the conclusion that they look even more ridiculous up-close.

Definitely cosplayers.

Although, there’s no harm in being careful, he supposes.

The cat-bus turns back into the cat-mascot in a puff of white-purple-pink smoke when Chuuya blinks to assess more of the situation. The kids haven’t notice him yet, even with his fiery red hair and his mafia-black coat that bellows in nonexistent wind. Chuuya’s indubitably sure that it’s the wind and that he’s definitely not playing it up to look larger in front of children (some of them were oddly tall) with his gravitational abilities.

He takes note that only one of them is shorter then him.

It’s the red head.

(Why does it have to be the red head? Are all red heads naturally short?)

His coat flaps higher around him due to a sudden burst of non-existent wind.

He puts on his best glower that he likes to think is very intimidating -that he knows is very intimidating, _no thanks to you, Dazai_ \- because it has caused countless of black suits to cower and grovel beneath him.

Dazai once told him it’s more his reputation then his facial expression that causes men to piss themselves. _“You look like an angry chihuahua, Chuuya.”_

Dazai can go drown in a river.

(Not that he hasn’t done it enough times that Chuuya’s probably got an automatic response regarding Dazai and river in a single sentence. Which is, to say, not a very good reaction.)

(He’s pretty damn sure drowning a mostly drowned man isn’t socially acceptable)

(Society can go drown in a river, too)

Chuuya takes a step forward and says, “Hey,”

The kids scream and the cat-mascot attaches itself to his face with surprisingly realistic claws

(Dazai is definitely not going to hear about this at all.)

.

Futaba watches her friends sigh in collective relief the moment they’re all out of Mona. She sighs too, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Futaba’s definitely not build for this kind of exercise and tension. She can already tell how sore her body is going to be tomorrow. Joy.

Yusuke looks like he’s the only one unaffected. Damn Inari. Aren’t Artists supposed to be weak to exercise like Hackers are?

Traitor.

Makoto doesn’t count because Makoto’s persona is a motorcycle and she’s always riding it, anyway.

“Hey.”

They all scream simultaneously. Mona yowls and attacks. The Phantom Thieves of Hearts minus The Leader scramble into formation with Futaba enclosed in a protected circle, Ann and Ryuji flanking her. Yusuke stands a few steps to the left in front of Futaba, katana drawn. Makoto leads them from Akechi’s usual spot, Johanna reared up threateningly. Mona flips back and takes his place to Futaba’s right, parallel to Yusuke, revealing the attacker.

The attacker, who is most definitely not a Shadow.

The man is short, with hair a similar tone to Futaba’s own. He’s dressed in ebony and maroon, sophisticated and clean. The whole outfit looks expensive, hinting at importance and status. Futaba eyes the coat suspiciously. It’s flapping, even when there’s no wind to lift up the heavy folds.

(He burns like an inferno; the same way Akira moves like the shadows that constantly envelopes him.)

His face is set in a dirty look aimed at them, mouth turned down in a frown and eyes narrowed into slits.

They’re the bluest blue Futaba has ever seen.

The man looks out of place in Kaneshiro’s cognition. An intruder amongst the palace’s desperate ATM dwellers. He radiates power in his short stature, similar to Kaneshiro’s and yet the mafia boss pales in comparison. Compared to the man before them, Kaneshiro Junya would have looked like a mere imitation. Cheap and fake.

Futaba knows little to nothing about the man, but she’s sure he’s not supposed to be here.

.

Chuuya gathers from the way the kids had moved that they are adapted at fighting; very much so given how fast they had reacted to his impromptu greeting.

He crosses his arms and tilts his head in a questioning manner.

A single step forward and the kids tense up even more.

He smirks inwardly, glad that he’d proven Dazai wrong. His scowl really is intimidating. Chuuya doesn’t smirk outwardly because he can still feel the sting of the cat-mascot’s claws. He glowers harder in vengeance. The girl with the short hair looks like she might snap and run him over with her bike soon

It’s a very nice-looking bike.

Chuuya can appreciate fine taste when he sees it.

He moves closer to the kids, footsteps paving his way through concrete and smoke. He’s barely ten steps away when blondie snaps.

.

“Who da’ eff’ are you?!” Ryuji shouts at the man, stupidly Futaba have might added if she wasn’t caught up in gaping at him.

Ann elbows Ryuji the way she always does when she thinks he’s being thoughtless. Ryuji splutters indignantly in response. Mona shakes his head exasperatedly. It’s a familiar scene and Futaba can feel some of the tension draining away from their little group.

A small cough interrupts them. The man is still there and he’s probably waiting for answers none of them could give.

They’re tense again in a split of a second.

Silence reigns between them, only the occasional whimpers of the ATM machine providing white noise in the background.

Makoto inhales deeply before she visibly forces herself to relax. “This is getting us nowhere,” she aims her best student council President smile at the man, “May you please tell us your name so that we can escort you out of here, sir?”

“Escort me…?” The man eyes her, suspicious.

“Yes,” Makoto answers, trying to sound amiable, if not a little stiff. “You shouldn’t be here, sir.”

“And you should?” The man counters, he crosses his arms in a way that reminds Futaba of their weapons dealer when Iwai’s to exasperated to deal with them. “A bunch of kids cosplaying in this kind of situation? Wherever the fuck this is.” He growls lowly, short stature tensing. “What kind of drugs are you playing with?”

“’Ey! We ain’t kids!” Ryuji shouts from somewhere behind her. “And we’re definitely not on any kinda drugs!”

He goes ignored. Mostly.

“Then how the fuck is something like this happening if it’s not related to drugs, huh?” The man snaps back. “Who the fuck is going to explain this to me right now.”

Ann’s yelp draws Futaba’s attention to the giant piece of rock floating behind them. Another one joins in –it’s just as big as the first one. She sees a smaller piece of concreate detach itself from the ground. It floats aimlessly, in a way that makes it look like a house fly. A giant, deadly house fly that could crush them into pancakes.

The kind that Akechi would definitely hate.

The rocks circle them a few more times, before dropping around them with defining booms, kicking clouds of dust.

“Our guest seems to be… glowing.” Yusuke says in what sounds awe, he looks minutes away from sketching up a storm. Damn artist and their tendencies to find inspiration in the weirdest times.

The man really was glowing. Reds intermix with whites and blacks to form a circle with a vague pattern around him. _For the tainted sorrow_ , Necronomicon whispers in her mind -Futaba really has no idea what that means. _Human. No visible weakness. Danger level: high. Recommended action: Do not engage in battle_. Information begins to filter into her as Futaba unconsciously scans him. It’s not very reassuring.

“Makoto, I think…” Futaba starts hesitantly. “I think we should go back.”

“What?” Makoto whispers, her eyes still trained on the man. “What do you mean?”

“Back to Shibuya.”

“And drag him with us?” Their stand-in leader gestures vaguely forwards.

“Yeah,” Futaba nods. “he’s dangerous, Necronomicon told me, if we go back, we’ll be in public. He won’t be able to do anything.” I hope, she thinks to herself. No sense in worsening their situation.

“Okay, in three?” Makoto says, her hand reaching for her phone, fingers searching for the metanav. “Three,”

“Two,”

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” Futaba hears the man shout before the world blurs into familiar, dizzying transition.

.

“Kobayashi Hideo.” He introduces himself as one of his rarely used aliases, usually only utilized to avoid attention, over expensive wine and pastries. The blonde girl, Takamaki he recalls, looks like she’s having a blast splurging his hard-earned mafia-money on more food. The other blonde, Sakamoto, is close to trying out the wine -not that Chuuya’s going to let him of course. Kitagawa looks level headed enough, if not a little eccentric. Nijima’s a godsend. He’s not going to even get started on Sakura.

Sakura’s a damn menace.

(Not as much as Dazai, of course, no ones going to ever be able to beat Dazai in his level of annoyingness. _“But you love me for that, Chibi”_ , says the Dazai-voice in his head.)

( ~~It’s true~~.)

“Kobayashi Hideo,” Sakura hums thoughtfully. “Kobayashi Hideo…” She repeats her fingers fly across her laptop’s keyboard so fast her hands blur.

“Yeah, you’re going to make my name lose it’s meaning soon, kid.” Chuuya sips his wine to help him reign in his temper. Sakamoto’s loud chewing is definitely not helping. It’s a good thing the café they’re in provides alcohol. Chuuya’s not sure he could have survived this batch of teens otherwise.

The small bell installed on the door frame dings as the café’s patrons come and go. Sakura’s still engrossed with her laptop, attention wholly taken by whatever it is the screen is showing. Chuuya has his suspicions but he’s sure Port Mafia’s secure enough that a brat won’t be able to hack into it.

“You don’t sound like a Kobayashi.” Futaba hums nonchalantly.

“Excuse me?”

“You sound more like a Nakahara instead.”

The table next to them explodes, nailing a couple of unfortunate clients with wooden shards.

.

They end up on a bench in Inokashira Park, Chuuya downing convenience store beer straight from the bottle. Sue him, he’s desperate.

“So, Nakahara Chuuya, huh?” The menace grins coyly at him. Chuuya’a starts upping her on the annoyance scale. He’s very, very close to crushing her like he did the table in the café they were chased out of. Not only did he waste ¥5,000 worth of wine, he had to pay to make up for the table and the injuries he’d caused. More than a little extra and some threats to ensure silence. It wouldn’t even make a dent in his account, but still.

“Shut,” Chuuya snaps. “Just, shut up.”

He’s going to strangle Sakura when his moral conscience finally gives up. The ensuing giggle solidifies his resolves.

.

Dealing with the more rambunctious bunch of Kouyou’s girls should have probably prepared him for Sakura Futaba -anxiety tics and sudden bouts of energy, complete with the mood swings that comes with depression.

(He knows the symptoms like he knows Dazai Osamu. Enough, yet at times, not.)

Strolling through Shibuya shouldn’t have been this taxing -especially when it’s his supposed day off from dealing with (the fucking idiots that seem to make up) Kaneshiro’s (whole shitty) gang. Chuuya had planned for it to be a relaxing day. Enjoying overpriced cafés, going window shopping for wines, maybe get a new hat that’s extra fancy just because he knows it’s going to annoy Dazai.

How had they dissolve into petty pranks played just for the hell of it, when before, Dazai had used him in the most treacherous of ways, only to toss him aside afterwards like a child with a toy that’s outlived its usefulness. When Chuuya’s most coveted desire was to have Dazai at his feet, humiliated and broken. He still does, sometimes, when things get bad or during the times when Dazai just sinks back into his old ways like he’s never changed.

God, he still fucking does (and he’s not proud and yet _and yet_ ), humiliated (but not broken, they’re both shattered enough as it is, jagged pieces stabbing, piercing, digging at each other in places where it hurts the most) and at his feet.

But it doesn’t sound as tempting, now.

Chuuya was so sure of where they’d stand with each other before.

(Now- now, he’s not even sure where he, himself stands, let alone whatever twisted thing they call a relationship they have growing between them.)

Chuuya’s still sure of one thing though, in that he can’t ever fully trust Dazai -not after all the stunts the bastard had pulled.

(Maybe one day, maybe not.)

 _‘Shut up’_ , he thinks to himself. _‘Shut the fuck up.’_

Sakura’s head snap up at him, and Takamaki’s apparently giving him something that could probably amount to a dirty look if Chuuya would give two fucks. He’s not even going to give one -let alone two.

“You say that a lot.” Sakura murmurs.

“Say what?” Chuuya snaps back, reigning in his temper.

“Shut up and fuck.”

“Well, shut up then, I didn’t waste a few fucking thousand yen just for you to blurt out my name in public.”

“It’s not my fault your mafia has bad profile security.” Sakura pouts -honest to god pouts, as she hugs her laptop protectively. “The Port Mafia should invest in better security.”

“The Port Mafia,” Chuuya inhales to prevent For the Tainted Sorrow from lashing out. “has one of the best fucking security,” he exhales the rest of the unneeded carbon dioxide forcefully -more food for the fucking trees, “money can hire.”

“Not good enough to stop a 15-year old girl, apparently.” Sakura counters in a way that would’ve prompted Chuuya to snap her neck had she not remind him too much of Kouyou’s youngest. Hana had been a menace too. She’s dead, now.

(They’d found her body rotting in an alley a few blocks away from the brothel, violated and mutilated. Ane-san had once promised hell on whoever hurts her girls.)

(Kouyou had delivered it the week after they found Hana.)

“Just -fuck, just make sure you don’t leave any tracks,” Chuuya signs tiredly, fingers harshly pinching the bridge of his nose to quell the headache he knows is coming. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

The cat eyes Sakura worriedly.

“It’s fine, Morgana,” Sakura says dismissively, “I made sure, and besides I’m not stupid.” She grins at the cat like it understands. With how Chuuya’s luck is going, it probably does “I did hack and blackmail you guys,” She beams at the other members of her group,” and I would’ve gotten away too if it wasn’t for Aki…” It quickly dissolved into inaudible grumbling.

“Yeah, your bro’s effin’ scary,” Sakamoto makes a face, “I dunno where we’d end up if ‘kechi adn’t shown up ‘n Leblanc that day.”

“Yes, Kurusu-san does strike quite the figure,” Kitagawa hums thoughtfully, fingers making a square to frame something Chuuya doesn’t give a fuck about. “I wonder…”

“If you’re gonna make Akira model for you, you better send me blackmail material Inari.”

(Modelling? Does the kid work in some sort of photography industry? Isn’t it illegal for brats to work? _‘You’re one to talk, Chibi.’_ )

“Hmm, yes, I can feel INSPIRATION!” Kitagawa shouts, so suddenly he startles Nijima enough that she almost falls out of her perch on the arm of the bench and manages to pull a sketchbook out of thin air, “I am able to picture the Scene!” He exclaims again as he furiously starts to sketch out a rough outline of a person surrounded by crumbling debris and scattered feathers. Great black wings sprout from the back, the left one is twisted in way that indicates some sort of irreversible injury.

The figure is facing a set of double doors, either wooden or steel, half-turned towards what would be the viewers; the one visible eye is dark and piercing -it holds an emotion Chuuya can’t quite grasp. “I will name this, Fear.”

“It doesn’t feel like fear,” Chuuya whispers as he peers over the probable artist’s shoulder, Kitagawa shifted but keeps still otherwise, letting Chuuya ponder over the drawing. It’s surprising how trusting these teenagers are -if it’d been Chuuya sitting with some stranger looking over his shoulders, they’d already be dead ten times over. “It feels more like some sort of finality.”

Kitagawa looks at Chuuya in awe. “A _connoisseur_ ,” He says slowly. “Please, Nakahara-san, tell me more.”

Chuuya twitches but relents otherwise -he’s quite interested in where this will lead and having investments wouldn’t be too bad if the kid needs money, just as long as he provides Chuuya with beautiful art that he can hang around his apartment. The name Kitagawa does sound familiar.

He scans the sketch again. Chuuya’s eyes narrow into slits, he’s seen that sort of expression before, it’s on the tip of his tongue. He wants to explain that it feels too familiar, intimate in way, but instead says, “A last destination, an end point.”

“終点” Kitagawa whispers as foreboding washes over Chuuya.

It’s an expression he’d seen in Dazai countless times.

.

Nakahara is quiet after his initial display of sincere commentary that doesn’t involve curse words, he grows surprisingly still when he’s lost in thoughts for a man who’s first reaction to an outing of his real name is to explode a table. Speaking of which-

“What was that trick you did? When you exploded the table? Back in the café?” Futaba asks as carefully as she can, the bench they’re sitting on creaks ominously.

Nakahara doesn’t look like he’s heard her. Futaba knows better from the number of times Akira’s played dodge the question with her.

“Well… I guess I could just ask that couple currently busy making out a few feet away about the Port Mafia,” She sighs, getting up dramatically in a way she’s seen Akira do when he’s teasing Akechi -or when he’s just being infuriating in general. “It’s not like there’d be, like, graveee consequenceesss” She drags out her words for good measure.

Nakahara inhales sharply as the tree next to them mysteriously sheds all of its leaves.

“You’re a damn cheeky brat, you know that, yeah?” He still doesn’t look like he’s close to answering her.

Futaba beams up at him innocently.

The same tree bends and breaks under an unseen weight. It scares enough people that the only ones left around their little space in Inokashira park is the Thieves, their (Futaba’s) next victim and the couple still busy making out.

Futaba can see Makoto straighten up so much she could probably beat a chopping board. Makoto’s probably realized what Futaba’s about to do. Ann is starting to sweat bullets. Ryuji’s eyeing Nakahara suspiciously -he’s always been sharp when it comes to drastic changes in emotions.

Yusuke, bless him, is still totally engrossed in his next masterpiece.

Morgana looks about ready to bolt. Probably a not-cat’s cat instinct.

Nakahara’s glaring at her with a glint that promises murder in his eyes.

Futaba does not fear death. Especially in the hands of a mini mafioso.

Futaba is ready.

She opens her mouth in preparation and-

.

“So, is it some sort of ability that only certain people have?” Futaba asks out loud. She’s repeated it about ten times for the past hour.

Nakahara twitches.

They’ve relocated to a small café in Yongen-jaya. It’s inconspicuous enough that it satisfies their mafioso, but not so tucked away that they wouldn’t be able to immediately bolt when Nakahara would have, inevitably, had enough of their (Futaba’s) antics and finally massacre them in cold blood.

Futaba hopes Akechi’s got enough influence as the Next Detective Prince to apprehend Nakahara when that happens. She knows she can count on their leader to avenge them.

She’s about to ask the same question for the eleventh time when Nakahara slams his hand on the table.

He’s starting to glow red again.

Ann elbows her side under the table. She does it subtle enough that it shakes Futaba’s whole body.

None of that is going to shut her up. Futaba likes to think of herself as civilized.

Futaba also knows she’s closer to a bloodhound then a human when something interests her enough that she’s willing to talk as much as a she had with a stranger for it.  
Morgana’s starting to give her a panicked look -he’s probably seconds away from getting Akechi, given that Leblanc is just about a 20-minute walk away. With the number of hours Akechi has been spending there flirting with Akira its practically his second home.

Black rash-like marks are starting to sprout on Nakahara’s skin starting from the visible strip of his wrist that’s not hidden by either gloves or jacket. He looks like he’s about to cry.

Wait -no, that looks more like blood then tears.

Futaba has enough self-preservation instincts to know when she’s hit the limit.

Her mouth snaps shut with a click.

Nakahara visibly relaxes, the black spots miraculously disappearing from his skin. The bloody tears were gone too. The café’s cheery atmosphere remains unchanged.

There’s an extended period of awkward silence as Nakahara recollects himself. He pinches the bridge of his noes with his gloved hand before sighing in a way that reminds Futaba of Sojiro’s heavy sigh -it’s probably a universal version of an adult’s Being Done. Nakahara staples his hands together and launches into what was probably going to be a very lengthy explanation.

Finally.

.

Chuuya startles out of his reverie when a drop of water lands on his left eye. It’s quickly followed by a sudden bout of rain that he manages to stop just before it touches his suit. It’s one of the very few things he’s glad about his ability. The usefulness that comes with the power is an adequate bonus from how much shit he has to go through when activating Corruption and facing Arahabaki.

He feels oddly calm for someone who’s just been coerced by a ragtag group of teenagers with a high probability of possessing some sort of ability.

Chuuya watches the water slide of the gravitational field that he’s formed close enough to him so that only someone who knows what to look for would be able to tell what he’s doing. There are only a scarce few ability users in Tokyo, if what he gathered from observing the brats is correct. He sighs and reminds himself to procure an umbrella soon.

It won’t do to unnecessarily expose himself more than he already has.

Chuuya absently taps at the screen of his phone, he flips through the various useless necessities smart phones have and stops at the foreign app -a black outline of an eye enclosed in a red square. There’s something he needs to make sure of.

Chuuya makes his way past faceless people heading straight for Shibuya.

.

The clicks and clacks of the main keyboard fills the room as Futaba busies herself with the information she likes to think she’d successfully force out of Nakahara.

(She knows he’d relented out of sheer vexation.)

_Ability users._

Her mind spins a million miles per hours.

_Are specific people with a specific set of supernatural talents -each one is wholly unique._

Futaba stares at her laptop -a single news articles on her screen. ‘DISAPPEARENCE OF HALF OF WHOLE BUILDING?’ it says on the top. It details about an incident in Yokohama concerning an office building disappearing into thin air. A few lines in the story had caught her attention.

_‘… caused by members of a foreign group of ability users.’_

_‘… the city’s local detective agency…’_

Her screen had been showing that same article for the past hour.

She groans in frustration.

Futaba curls up like a gargoyle in her chair. She stares at her phone dejectedly, hoping for some sort of new information to pop up magically. Her eyes narrow in contemplation as she snatches her phone from the counter and opens her messaging app. Scrolling down to bottom reveals a question mark icon. Futaba sighs and presses on it with more force than necessary.

 **?** _03:47 am_  
Hello, Alibaba.

 **?** _03:47 am_  
I’ve heard your little band of thieves have been dealing with Kaneshiro Junya.

 **?** _03:48 am_  
Then, you’ll most definitely run into a man introducing himself as Kobayashi Hideo,

 **?** _03:47 am_  
That man is actually Nakahara Chuuya, from the Port Mafia.

 **?** _03:49 am_  
Call him out, vex him for me a little, won’t you? ;)

 **Alibaba** _03:56 am_  
How did you know that?

 **Alibaba** _03:56 am_  
Who are you?

 **Alibaba** _03:56 am_  
What do you want?

 **?** _03:57 am_  
Questions, questions,

 **?** _03:59 am_  
I believe I have already stated what I want, Sakura Futaba.

 **Alibaba** _03:59 am_  
What

 **?** _04:00 am_  
Do tell me everything when you’ve done it.

 **Alibaba** _04:00 am_  
Wait

 **Alibaba** _04:00 am_  
Wait!

 **Alibaba** _04:00 am_  
Hey!

 **Alibaba** _04:00 am_  
Don’t!  
(!)

Her last message had been met with an error, the unknown receiver having deleted the sending address. She made a mental note to apologies to her friends for threatening them the same way, before. It must have been frustrating, even though it had only been that one time. It wasn’t like she could’ve gone out either. Not back then, anyway.

Futaba inhales deeply to calm herself, before typing in a message.

 **Alibaba** _07:55 pm_  
We’ve come in contact with Nakahara.

 **Alibaba** _07:56 pm_  
Now tell me what you want.

 **Alibaba** _07:55 pm_  
And who you are.

 **?** _07:57 pm_  
Excellent!

 **?** _07:57 pm_  
He was quite endearing, wasn’t he?

 **Alibaba** _07:58 pm_  
Who.

 **Alibaba** _07:58 pm_  
Are.

 **Alibaba** _07:58 pm_  
You.

 **?** _07:58 pm_  
My, my, my someone’s getting frustrated ;)

Futaba stare incredulously at the text. The guy had just sent her a wink face. A. Wink. Face. A straight up wink face made out of a semi colon and a parenthesis.

It wasn’t even a _kaomoji_.

The nerve.

 **Alibaba** _07:59 pm_  
You.

 **Alibaba** _07:59 pm_  
You’re like Nakahara, aren’t you?

 **Alibaba** _08:00 pm_  
You’re an ability user.

 **?** _08:01 pm_  
How am I supposed to answer a statement, dear Sakura?

 **Alibaba** _08:01 pm_  
You-!

 **Alibaba** _08:02 pm_  
Don’t call me that! Bastard!

 **?** _08:02 pm_  
Oh, that was unnecessary, Sakura-chan!

 **?** _08:02 pm_  
I assure you, I am quite the gentlemen,

 **Alibaba** _08:02 pm_  
Just.

 **Alibaba** _08:03 pm_  
What do you want?

 **?** _08:04 pm_  
Just keep an eye on him for me, Sakura-chan,

 **?** _08:04 pm_  
Wouldn’t want him to get lost in palaces, now, would we?

 **?** _08:05 pm_  
Especially when I know your little secret.

The door slams shut as Futaba frantically types a message in the official Phantom Thieves group chat. Not telling Akechi be damned, a person’s life and their whole operation is at risk.

 **Oracle** _08:06 pm_  
meet me in Kaneshiro’s palace!

 **Oracle** _08:06 pm_  
NOW!

 **Panther** _08:07 pm_  
Futaba????

 **Skull** _08:07 pm_  
what the eff’??? futaba???

 **Fox** _08:08 pm_  
Did you, perhaps, mistook this group for the other one?

 **Skull** _08:08 pm_  
yusuke!

 **Oracle** _08:08 pm_  
NO!

 **Oracle** _08:09 pm_  
somebody get Makoto!

 **Crow** _08:09 pm_  
What is going on?

 **Skull** _08:09 pm_  
leader!

 **Oracle** _08:10 pm_  
nakahara

 **Oracle** _08:10 pm_  
is in

 **Oracle** _08:10 pm_  
the PALACE!

 **Panther** _08:11 pm_  
NAKAHARA??????

 **Skull** _08:11 pm_  
WHAT????

 **Skull** _08:11 pm_  
shit

 **Fox** _08:12 pm_  
Ah… Shit, indeed.

 **Crow** _08:12 pm_  
As much as I am aware about your secret mission in Kaneshiro’s Palace,

 **Crow** _08:12 pm_  
Who is, this, Nakahara?

 **Panther** _08:13 pm_  
You knew??????

 **Oracle** _08:13 pm_  
he’s-

 **Oracle** _08:13 pm_  
he doesn’t have a persona

 **Oracle** _08:13 pm_  
he doesn’t know anything about palaces

 **Oracle** _08:13 pm_  
or shadows

 **Crow** _08:14 pm_  
Ah.

.

“Kaneshiro Junya.” Chuuya says out loud. He’s lounging in one of Shibuya’s many alleys. It’s hidden away from the crowd and private enough. Chuuya’s not so careless as to drag civilians into his curiosities -no matter how ridiculous this one may seem.

‘Match found. Please enter the location and distortion.’ The robotic voice that emerges from his phone would’ve been startling of it wasn’t expected. It had been an hour after all. An hour of repeating Kaneshiro Junya’s name so many times Chuuya’s lost count.

“Location and Distortion…” Chuuya says. He’s probably said it as much as he’s said Kaneshiro Junya.

“Kaneshiro Junya, Shibuya,” He tries again.

‘Match found. Please enter the distortion.’ Finally.

“Castle.”

‘Match not found. Please enter the distortion.’

“City.”

‘Match not found. Please ent-’

“Floating rock.”

‘Match not found. Please enter the distortion.”

Chuuya’s eye twitches. He’s going to develop a tic if this keeps up.

‘ _Fuck, Chuuya, think._ ’ He draws in a deep breath to calm himself. ‘ _You might not be as smart as the mackerel, but this isn’t even one of Mori’s fucking strategy puzzles that he likes to dish out just for the hell of it. Probably to impress Elis- fuck, okay, you’re getting off track._ ’

He breathes out, a lot less calm then before, and thinks back to when he’d first seen the brats. There had been… ATM machine. ATM machines with limbs and desperate wails amidst a sickly green Shibuya. But Chuuya had already mentioned Shibuya and the app had accepted it as some sort of location so, something else then. There’d been a floating rock, but he’d already mentioned that too.

‘ _There was something on top of the rock, wasn’t there, some building…_ ’ Chuuya hums, Corruption a periodical buzz tucked at the recesses of his mind. ‘ _A bank…?_ ’

“Bank.” Chuuya tries, if this one fails-

‘Match Found. Starting Navigation.’

The world distorts into dizzying waves of red and black, Dazai’s voice echoing in his head.

“ _What have you gotten yourself and your fancy hat into this time, Chuuya?_ ”

.

Futaba pants as she forces her way out of Shibuya station. She is not a fan of crowded subways and sweaty bodies. A vaguely familiar black-gloved hand connected to a tan pea coat enters her view. Both relief and anticipation crashes into her. Futaba groans, she’s definitely having a no-good day.

“Shibuya at night, Sakura-san?” The equally familiar teasing lilt in that baritone voice greets her as annoyingly smug as ever. “My, my, I wonder what Kurusu-kun would think about this?”

“You… wouldn’t… _dare_.” She manages to ground out among puffs of useless carbon dioxide. More food for the trees.

“Ah, I suppose so,” Akechi smiles at her. It’s too sweet to be innocent. “Wouldn’t want to unnecessarily worry Akira now, would we?”

Oh.

Damn.

Futaba latches onto potential blackmail like a cat latches onto catnip.

“ _Akira_?” She beams a devil’s grin at him, pushing her glasses back into proper position with her middle finger. “ _Akira_? Since when are you on a first-name basis with Akira.”

Akechi pulls back looking very, very flustered. There’s even a hint of red creeping up from his shirt collar. “Oh, that’s- I meant-”

“Ohohoho, and no suffix too?” Her grin widens as she backs him up slowly. “How scandalous, Akechi- _senpai_.”

The blushing intensifies.

“I bet that’s what he calls you, senpai, or maybe just… _Goro_.” She says in a voice so husky it surprises even herself. Oh, the things she does for friends.

Akechi is so red he could probably beat a tomato.

“He doesn’t call me Goro, Futaba!” Akechi whisper-shouts frantically. “It’s not- we’re not-”

“You’re not, what? _Dating_?” This is so fun she could do it forever.

“No!” Damn Futaba wishes she had a camera on hand. Blackmail Material. “I merely offered him to be my partner! That’s all there i-” Akechi stops when he realizes what he had just given out.

Oh.

Ohohoho.

 _Free Blackmail Buffet_ from the usually composed Crow?

Count her in.

“Futaba!!! It’s not what you think it is!!”

.

Kaneshiro’s purple bug-like shadow is so revolting Futaba’s surprised Nakahara hadn’t blown him up. Yet. He’s definitely glowing bright enough for Akechi to notice. Their leader keeps throwing bewildered glances at the small mafioso. It’s hilarious.

They had found Nakahara moments after entering Kaneshiro’s palace -or, specifically, Nakahara’s trail of craters and crushed buildings. The ATMs were, oddly enough, spared from any traces of destruction save for the usual desperate cowering. Nakahara, himself, was predictably at the end of the carnage, as short and imposing as always.

The man had seemed very, very ticked off at having to look up at Kaneshiro. Which leads them to their current predicament.

“Well, well, well, lookie here, the great Nakahara Chuuya looking up at me.” Kaneshiro says smugly. He rubs his fingers together in satisfaction. It reminds Futaba about those fruit flies she frequently sees hovering over trash with their disgusting stick-like appendages doing the same exact gesture. Ughh.

“I wonder what I’ll get from Port Mafia big shots like ya,” Kaneshiro continues. “Lots and lotsa money, yeah and maybe a position for ya’ in my brothel if what I’m lookin’ at ‘s the real deal.”

Nakahara’s glare could kill.

“Or maybe that _partner_ of ya’ from the famous Soukoku. The lanky and pretty one.”

Futaba’s eye swerve back towards Kaneshiro curiously. Not for the man though, but for the words he’d just spewed out of his nauseating looking mouth.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Not that ya ain’t pretty, Nakahara, but you’re sorta to muscular for some of the _clients_.”

Futaba might just gag. The rest of her team looks like their about to either start flinging weapons or vomit all over themselves like toddlers. It’s that disgusting. Ryuji’s even starting to look green.

Futaba manages to glance at Akechi. His eyes, narrowed into suspicious slits, briefly lingers at Nakahara before focusing back at Kaneshiro. Futaba knows he’s working his way though the revelation that Nakahara is from the Port Mafia, cautiousness amplified by his detective instincts. They must be going crazy.

 _Nakahara_ looks like he’s going insane. The black rashes Futaba had had the pleasure of witnessing earlier starts appearing randomly at whatever parts of his skin is exposed -which is, to say, not much but enough for her to know what’s going to happen if Kaneshiro keeps throwing up trash from that mouth of his.

Futaba’s both thrilled and scared at the prospect of seeing Nakahara at full action now that she knows about abilities. Ann’s exchanging excited glances with Ryuji. Makoto, bless her and her still intact sanity, looks mildly horrified, if not a little exhilarated.

Yusuke looks about ready to whip out a sketch book, motivated as he was to immortalize art, “This scene,” He whispers in awe, observing the way shapeless hues of purple, red and black rise from Nakahara like a warning for utter carnage -a God of Destruction emerging into the mortal plane. “such strong emotions interwinding in a deadly dance…”

“Fox, you can sketch this out later,” Akechi’s voice snaps them all back, an anchor in stormy weathers. “For now, focus on Kaneshiro, we don’t know what he wants but apparently Nakahara-san’s presence is enough of a calling card as is.” Akechi observes the blob of colour behind Kaneshiro take start to take form. “It appears we might have to steal his treasure today.”

“WHAT?” Ryuji shouts, his yellow gloves creak at how hard he’s gripping the handle of his current weapon. “Then how are we gonna get Tokyo’s attention?”

“Now, now,” Akechi says in a way that some may think of as patronizing, instead it’s the usual tone he uses when the whole team gets to rowdy and Akechi needs a fast way to pacify them. “I’ve already asked for someone to post the cards around Shibuya, it won’t be as much as we have planned, but it’ll be enough.”

“By someone, you mean Kurusu-kun, no?” Makoto questions lightly.

“Yes, however did you guess?” Akechi asks back in a surprised tone. It’s sounds so fake even Yusuke wouldn’t be convinced.

“Don’t act all surprised on me, Goro,” Makoto teases in a way only siblings could. “I’ve seen the shrine you keep full of Kurusu-kuns,” She grins at him, before looking at Futaba mischievously. “maybe I’ll show it to Futaba some time in the future.”

Futaba grins back at her, “Sure! Any form of blackmail is a welcome payment for my services!”

“Makoto! It’s not-”

A distant boom cuts him off. Either Nakahara’s had enough or Kaneshiro’s finally finished his speech and is ready to attack them.

It’s the latter.

Futaba doesn’t think she could have been more disgusted then she already was but Kaneshiro manages to surprise her, yet again.

.

The moment Kaneshiro opens his filthy mouth, Chuuya sees red.

He doesn’t know when this sort of twisted possessiveness came from. Maybe it’s from the time Chuuya’s first seen Dazai stare at a river, blankness in his eyes, his lips spewing severe longing for death. It might have been in the following weeks after Dazai had blown up Chuuya’s car, when they’d meet completely by incident. Chuuya, after rough weeks of interrogation for Dazai’s disappearance, had gone to Lupin. Dazai, in complete desperation and lack of self-preservation, had visited.

Then had been the rawest state Chuuya’s ever seen of his former partner.

Dazai had bolted the second he saw and Chuuya had let him, hurting too much to do little else.

It could’ve started in the 4 years they’d been separated, hidden letters from his former partner tucked neatly in a hidden drawer in his apartment.

Chuuya had broken into Dazai’s apartment, once, after the whole Lovecraft fiasco. Dazai had offered a bottle of expensive wine. It had been one of Chuuya’s preferred brand. An apology to sincere to speak out loud. Chuuya scoffed, popped the bottle open and they’d drank together for the first time in years.

Maybe it’d been then.

(Maybe it’d been the first time they’d met. When he’d seen a boy his age too young to be wearing that many layers of bandages and he’d felt the sudden urge to _protect_ because Chuuya may have been brash and naïve and ambitious but even he wouldn’t want to be in a room alone with Mori for more then a few seconds, let alone have regular _private_ sessions.)

Corruption slithers at the back of his mind, Arahabaki screaming for destruction in a litany of _kill kill kill_. Chuuya holds them back, painfully, because he knows if he balks now, No Longer Human’s cool, relief won’t be there to quell the flames that will burn through him until he finally, inevitably dies.

He does, however, unleash For the Tainted Sorrow at the ridiculous contraption that Kaneshiro throws at them.

.

The battle went about as well and as fast as was expected given that they had an actual God at their side.

Nakahara had dealt with the giant rolling pig with the ease of someone who’s had years of experienced fighting and professional martial arts training. Akechi had made the split-second decision to leave the mafia member alone and had directed the thieves towards Kaneshiro, letting Makoto lead them.

Futaba had hung back to give supports and buffs and to also keep an eye on Nakahara and make sure he didn’t overdo and get himself killed in the process -not that it was needed, because the second the pig had turned into junk metal, the older red head had made himself as comfortable as possible to wait out the rest of the fight. The whole thing had lasted about 15 minutes at most.

It was the shortest and easiest battle they had ever participated in.

Futuba’s definitely going to make a petition to pull Nakahara into the team, Mafia-status be damned.

“You- you punks!” Kaneshiro wails pathetically. “You’re gonna pay! Yer’ wasting my money like it’s nothing!”

“My entire monthly paycheck is worth more then what you make in a year and I don’t resort to bullying minors.” Nakahara deadpans.

“You-!” Kaneshiro starts, before dissolving into incoherent warbling. “I- I JUST WANT TO BELONG- I’M U-UGLY AND SSSSTUPID- MONEEYY is all I HAVE LEFFTTTT!!”

Makoto steps up next to Akechi. She stares at Kaneshiro silently for a while, “You will have a place to belong.” She says, slowly but firmly, “A place where you will repent for the things you’ve done.”

Futaba sees Nakahara flinch softly in her peripheral vision. Makoto’s words must have hit a nerve in the older red head. Or maybe he’d just felt his eardrums rupture at Kaneshiro’s wailing gradually increasing in volume.

“Fuck, I’m leaving, get me when you’re done cause I’m sure as hell not going to stay here and listen to him.” Nakahara growls exasperatedly before stalking off. Or he would have, if the palace hadn’t started to crumble

“What the fuck.”

“Oh no! We need to grab the treasure!”

.

Nakahara leaves as soon as the soles of his very expensive shoes touch normal ground.

Futaba gives chase soon after. The Thieves not far behind.

“Nakahara-san!” She shouts, “Wait!”

“What do you want.” Nakahara shouts in return, stopping in yet another alley, quitter then the last one they had been in. He’d probably known Futaba would go after him. It’s starting to feel like a habit, one that Futaba wouldn’t mind having, really, if it means shorter battles and a new victim to tease.

“Kinda wanna thank you for helping us with Kaneshiro,” Futaba says when she falls into step next to him. “For dealing with the giant, rolling pig.”

“What do you mean by kinda, you brat.” Nakahara grouses at her, although there’s a playful light in his eyes.

“I mean, you didn’t really do much,” Futaba pretends to contemplate. “You just went, bam and stuff.”

“Well, you just sat in that stupid UFO thing of yours and didn’t even do anything.”

“Hey! I supported my team!”

“Yeah, sure.”

Futaba groans. It’s fake. Nakahara can tell it’s fake by the way he rolls his eyes. Maybe having a cranky mafia member on call wouldn’t be too bad. Akira definitely wouldn’t approve, but still. Shorter battles and a new victim to tease.

“Hey, maybe you can help us too!”

“Fuck.Off.”

Maybe not.

.

It’s almost 12 am by the time Futaba gets home, Morgana perched on her shoulder and Akechi in tow. He’d insisted on escorting her home. Probably because Akira’d be waiting to beat both of their ass in Sojiro’s place. It’s a disconcerting feeling, knowing that Akira knows about the Phantom Thieves.

Leblanc’s lights are off, maybe Akira had gotten tired of waiting for them.

“Well, I’d never guess you’d go from a shut-in to roaming the streets of Shibuya at night, Futaba.” Akira’s voice came from the shadows that envelope Leblanc. Or more specifically, the counter. “I’m sort of proud, actually.”

“Akira!” Futaba beams up at him, maybe she’d managed to avoid a talking too from Akira’s famous Disappointed Voice.

“But,” Akira starts again. “We are still going a talk about this growing habit of yours."

Futaba deflates instantly. Morgana pats her head sympathetically before jumping down to slide between Akechi’s legs. The detective goes to pick him up, Morgana struggling all the way, and turns to leave. Traitors.

“Well, I suppose, that’s that, Goodnight, Kurusu-kun, Futaba.”

“ _We_ , as in, _all three_ of us,” Akira’s glasses glinted in non-existent light as he reaches past her to grab at Akechi’s jacket collar. “You’re definitely not running away _this time_ , Akechi-senpai.”

“A-Ah, but, Kurusu-kun,” Akechi tries to reason as Akira drags him back and sits him in one of the booths. Futaba follows after them silently, knowing that escaping would be a futile attempt. She’s definitely leaving out any explanations about being coerced by some unknown hacker, given that the both of them are already in deep, deep trouble.

Futaba’s pretty sure it’s the end of that, anyway.

.

She startles awake at the sudden ping. Futaba reaches out blindly for her phone. A few brief taps and it comes to life, assaulting her eyes with it’s unrelenting brightness. Her eyes snap shut and she groans -who’d contact her so late at night?

She squints at the screen, there’s a +1 on the left corner of her messaging app.

 **?** _03:55 am_  
Well done! You’ve cleared level 1!

Futaba jerks as her brain registers the message from the number she had blocked -and made sure that it wouldn’t be able to contact her again- just moments ago. Her fingers fly as she struggles to type up a message with shaky hands.

 **Alibaba** _03:56 am_  
I blocked you.

 **?** _03:56 am_  
Yes, you did! And I’m quite hurt by that, Sakura-chan!

 **?** _03:56 am_  
We’ll put that aside, for now.

 **?** _03:56 am_  
Because it’s!

 **?** _03:57 am_  
Reward time!

 **Alibaba** _03:57 am_  
You-

Futaba wonders when her extensive vocabulary had started to just consist of yous and whats. She breathes in deeply to calm herself. Hacking into someone was as much fun as it was easy (for her). Being hacked into was nerve-racking.

 **Alibaba** _03:58 am_  
What do you want!

 **?** _03:58 am_  
Impatient as always!

 **?** _03:59 am_  
Here you go!

‘ _A photo…?_ ’ Her thumb hovers over the picture file that had just been sent. It loads slowly, despite her Wi-Fi being at full blast. Futaba bites her lips in anticipation and confusion. ‘ _Why would they send me a photo? Is it something about Nakahara?_ ’

The file finishes it’s loading and she taps on it. It’s a blurry snapshot of a sixteen-year old boy. He’s clad in a black suit that clashes with the whites of bandages and the shirt he’s wearing. The ebony coat he has slung over his shoulder defies gravity as it opens around him -Futaba’s sure it’s just her imagination, but they look like great black wings.

There’s a gun, it’s partly why the picture is blurry. The camera had probably focused on it, rather than the boy, like they usually do to the object closest to the shutter. The gun is aimed in a way that insinuates a kill shot; a direct path right to the forehead. It’s an unnerving suggestion, knowing that the person who took this photo probably died soon after.

Her gaze lingers at the gun and the hand covered in red that was holding it before snapping up to observe the face.

Dark curls and darker eyes.

The ping from her phone swallows her gasp.

 **?** _04:00 am_  
Won’t you steal the traitor’s heart?

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up in tumblr (for now it's Kumoreia until i finally find out how to add the link), cause this might be a series.*laughs nervously*


End file.
